When Fate Comes Knocking
by Delilah Wigglesworth
Summary: Sam's wallowing in singleton pity on a Saturday night when an unexpected guest turns up 3 guesses who, and suddenly her night doesn't seem like such a waste... SJ


Hi! My second fic for this category and, again, it's a trashy, unoriginal romance one - the ones I adore writing and you adore reading...

Hope you enjoy this, the characters may seem...out of character, but we'll just say it's because this is set at the weekend, and all kinds of freaky things happen at the weekend.

Don't think there are any spoilers, and it should be obvious who the lucky couple in love are.

(Man, I always feel so nervous posting fics in this category. You guys are so intimidating!)

So, enjoy:)

* * *

You know you've reached the epitome of being single when you're eating your cereal dinner, at 7pm, while watching a programme on boob jobs, on a Saturday night.

Sam had plenty of real food. Well, real for a microwave meal. She just didn't want to eat them. Rebelling against the fact that, plastered across the boxes, were the words, "_MEAL FOR ONE!"_

She couldn't describe the mortification she felt when she reached the checkout with her basket piled high with the little buggers. What kind of sick married moron came up with that design, anyway?

Sam winced as she watched a young girl's chest be sliced open. This was the twelfth time she'd winced. The last time had been when the child had told the camera she wanted breasts that looked fake, "like the MacDonald golden arches," she'd said.

And yet… Sam couldn't change the channel. She ate another mouthful of Fruit Loops. What? They were tasty…

Man, the Colonel would have a field day if he discovered her now. He was always telling her to get a life…and here she was, in her life, alone. Eating Fruit Loops.

She wondered what he was doing. Fishing? Out with guys? Nah; Daniel had barricaded himself in his office and Teal'c was off-world. Okay, so that left O'Malleys and…and anything else in the world.

He was probably on a date.

Sam shook her head vigorously. No, no, no. She was _so_ not going there tonight. Sure, she was all on her own and depressed as hell, but that didn't mean she had to _purposefully_ inflict even _more_ depression on herself by pondering the sex life of her Commanding Officer.

Not a safe place to go. Especially when you happened to be madly in love with said CO… She _really_ wished she wasn't; the fact that most guys she fell in love with died was slightly unnerving, add onto that the fact they frequently got into battle situations and she was damn near ready to have a breakdown.

Or to just quietly vanish into thin air with a faint pop.

After the whole ex-fiancé-going-mad-and-trying-to-kill-me-and-my-friends-not-to-mention-a-whole-civilisation-of-misguided-aliens thing, Sam had quietly professed never to fall in love again. Could you blame her after _that_ particularly disturbing incident?

But it was several years later, and she had seen things and experienced things – and feelings – she had never seen nor experienced before.

One of those things being Colonel O'Neill. Damn the man.

The girl on TV was waking up and crying (happy tears) at the sight of her new breasts.

Sam shuddered.

She looked down at her Fruit Loops and found her appetite had zipped off into the night. Probably getting a date. She plonked her spoon back in the bowl and flopped back against her couch.

What to do, what to do…

She could clean…yeah, and at the same time scrape off the paint and varnish on her walls and floors. She'd already scrubbed her house surfaces to the point where she no longer needed her hall mirror. Her drill sergeant would have been so proud of her.

She sighed and twiddled her thumbs. Man, what she wouldn't give to have Daniel come over and have a nice chat. Or Janet to come over with Cassie, and they could watch a nice girly movie (for Cassie's sake, they'd say) and then a thriller for Janet and Sam (preferably one where the hot lead male took his top off, or had it ripped from his perfect body).

Of course the Colonel never came over uninvited. He used to. Most of the time, actually. He'd cook (and tease her for not cooking), and then they'd sit down and mock the TV, or he'd put on the game and Sam would read a magazine (with Jack yelling and cheering at the set).

But that was before. They'd had too many close calls those times he'd come over. When they'd maybe had too many beers, or when they hadn't. There'd be the awkward front door-hanging. Where he'd hover on the outside and she'd lean into the outside from the inside.

And there were times when they'd be playing chess, without playing chess. She'd glance up and find his dark, opaque eyes trained on her. And a minute later he would look up and catch her own blue eyes drinking in his face when it was transformed into majestic intent, with the usual hard lines softened with relaxation, and a small smile peaking the corners of his lips.

And _then_ there were the times when a kiss goodbye would become…well, almost more. An innocent peck on the cheek would rest there too long, then stray lower and lower…

The visits stopped and the result was Sam was left watching a girl bounce things that weren't designed to be bounced like that. It was dangerous. She could knock someone's block off with those things.

Sam turned the volume up, just a little bit.

She watched as a group of men ogled the girl and wondered once again what the Colonel was doing. She hoped to God it wasn't what the men on the TV were doing. She gave another shudder and look forlornly at her soggy Fruit Loops.

Oh, to be a Fruit Loop.

The trill ringing of the doorbell cut through the cozy warmth of her house and she jumped, her gaze swinging from her cereal to the hall.

Huh. She wondered who that could be. She was betting on either a salesman or a mad axe man. She wasn't sure if she even cared; she doubted she had enough energy to actually get her butt of the couch.

But the bell continued to chime through the house, suddenly warping into a strangely familiar rhythm…

With renewed energy, Sam leapt off the couch and flew to the door, whipping it open the minute she had unlocked it.

The Colonel stood, blinking in surprise before letting loose his renowned grin. The one that added new depths to his chocolate eyes as he gently cocked his head to the side like a curious bird.

"Were you playing _The_ _Simpsons_, sir?"

The grin spread. "I'm not sure 'playing' is the word I'd use," he took a step closer. "Enjoy the show?"

Sam gave him a dry eyebrow raise. "Don't give up the day job, sir."

The Colonel sighed. "No, couldn't do that. Where would the galaxy be without me?"

"Probably in the same place, but under the regime of an evil tyrant with a snake in his head."

"No pressure then, huh?"

Sam smiled, one that was tainted with the sadness that yes, there was that much pressure, and then some. "With all due respect, sir; what are you doing here?"

The grin was back and O'Neill waggled his eyebrows. "I come bearing great gifts." He thrust forward a bucket right under Sam's nose and she resisted the temptation to cross her eyes to see what was in it. Not that she needed her eyes for that. The aroma it gave off was enough to make her stomach rumble with enough force to feel like there was a mini tempest going on in there.

"Fried chicken?"

"Fresh and warm and golden, just for you, Major."

"_Just_ for me?"

Jack quickly pulled the bucket into his body. "Didn't your Dad ever teach you to share?"

Sam snorted and stepped to the side, waving the Colonel in. He accepted the informal invitation and plodded through to the kitchen, kicking off his shoes in a surprisingly smooth and economical movement that told of how familiar he was with his surroundings.

Sam padded along behind him after locking the door, and watched as he began gathering plates and cutlery. "You know, you keep eating all this junk food and it won't be the Goa'uld that kills you."

O'Neill spared a glance in her direction. "But what a way to go," he retorted with a smirk and returned to dolling out the greasy pieces of chicken.

Sam grabbed a couple of beers and popped their tops, following her CO as he strolled into her living room with their dinner.

He fell onto the couch and waited patiently for her to settle down next to him and figure out how they were going to exchange beers for chicken. He watched in amusement as she picked up her first piece of chicken and hesitated, lips poised; the drumstick almost in her mouth.

Forcefully dragging his eyes away from her lips, he gave a gentle cough. Sam just about dropped the piece of chicken rapidly burning her fingers with greasy heat. She had been staring at her sorry-looking bowl of Fruit Loops sat all on its lonesome on her coffee table.

"Would you two like some time alone together?" the Colonel asked, trying desperately hard to hide the twitching of his lips.

Sam gave him her you-think-you're-so-funny look and sighed. "I feel a little bit guilty, that's all."

"I understand. I often worry about my breakfast foods getting jealous of my dinner."

It was Sam's turn to hide a smile. "You mean there's a difference?"

"I don't _always_ eat cold pizza for breakfast."

Sam snorted and tore off a strip of chicken with her teeth, sighing in pleasure as the warm taste of fried chicken hit her senses. Jack looked away.

"Since when do you eat Fruit Loops, anyway, Carter?"

Sam took another bite of chicken in the desperate hope that he wouldn't notice her blush. Because she couldn't tell him that when she and Daniel had been too drunk to leave his house after a particularly lively night in (Teal'c had been forced to stay given the fact that he didn't have a license), she'd snuck into his kitchen in the early hours in search of some food. After almost closing the cupboard door on the Fruit Loops, she'd changed her mind and had greedily eaten half the box. When the Colonel asked her about it the next day, she'd told him Daniel did it.

"Sometimes I have a craving for the sweet and sickly, sir," she mumbled.

"Now _that_," Jack emphatically said, "I understand." He patted his belly fondly. "You can't beat a slice of cake when you're feeling peckish."

Sam raised her eyebrows. "A _slice_, sir? Who was it who brought an _entire_ cake into the briefing room one day and proceeded to eat the whole thing – _with his bare hands_?"

The Colonel didn't even have the grace to blush, but grinned unrepentantly. "Hey, I offered you some!"

"_You pelted me with bits of icing!"_

O'Neill shook his head sadly. "Some people are so pernickety."

They sat in affable silence, each nibbling on their chicken and contemplating the newest victim of plastic surgery – a man who wanted pectoral implants.

After the man did his second chest dance, the Colonel decisively switched off the TV. He turned to Sam apologetically. "There are some things a man shouldn't do to his body."

"Agreed," she nodded and finished off her chicken. While she licked off the grease from her fingers (she really ought to start eating more healthily) she pointed to his empty beer, "You want another?"

Clearing his mind of the very _un_professional thoughts he was having of his second whilst watching her clean her fingers, he nodded.

In response, she gave him that knock-out grin that always made him feel as though he'd just saved an orphanage from being destroyed by a demonic Goa'uld System Lord.

He tugged at his collar, suddenly feeling a little too warm for comfort.

Sam strolled back into the room sat down on the couch, tucking her feet up next to her and curling herself into the corner. Without thinking, the Colonel reached out and grabbed both her exposed feet, tugging them into his lap.

For a moment he sat there, calmly massaging one of her bare feet, staring blissfully at the blank TV. And then like a two-by-four across the stomach he realized what he was doing.

Slowly, he turned his head to Sam.

"Colonel?" Sam hoped he couldn't feel the heat coming off the flush that was rapidly spreading up her throat.

Jack mentally winced. "Uh…your feet looked tense?"

Sam couldn't help the smile that was tugging at the corners of her lips.

With a sigh, Jack pulled her feet more firmly into his lap, causing Sam to slide further onto the couch. She scrabbled up onto her elbows and flicked a wisp of hair from the corner of her eye.

"Sir, I really don't…"

"Relax, Carter. I'm actually quite good."

"To be honest, sir, that wasn't what I was worried about," she said dryly.

In response, Jack gave her foot another sharp yank and her elbows melted beneath her as she was dragged across the couch again.

"Sir!" she protested.

"Carter."

Jack waited calmly for Sam to readjust herself before planting both her feet in his lap again. "I'm giving my friend a foot massage, Carter. I don't expect any Air Force officials to come barging in because of it."

For a moment, Sam scowled at him. Then, with a sigh of surrender, she settled herself into a more comfortable position, stuffing some cushions between her back and the arm of the sofa, and let him administer his massage. Which he did, after a little 'hmph' of victory.

After a minute, Sam was forced to admit that maybe this wasn't such a bad idea.

After two minutes, she was willing to admit that maybe this should be compulsory for all SGC personnel.

By the time he had moved onto her other foot, Sam was pretty sure she was in heaven and was having to bite back the moans of pleasure that were beginning to surface.

Okay, so maybe this wasn't such a good idea…

But by now, Sam was so relaxed she doubted she could blink, let alone fob off an incorrigible, tenacious Colonel O'Neill.

"Where did you learn to give foot massages like _this_?" Jack was gently kneading his way up to her ankles and Sam was lounged with her eyes closed and a smile fixed on her face thinking of nothing but her Colonel's hands.

When he didn't immediately answer, she grudgingly opened her eyes. Jack was staring intently at her feet, still kneading and rubbing. If it hadn't been for the emotions playing in his eyes, Sam would have thought he hadn't heard. But the lights were on and his mind was ticking.

Just when she thought he wasn't going to answer, he quietly replied, "When Sara was pregnant and complained of her feet hurting I used to sit her down and give them a massage. She always ended up falling asleep and kept threatening to make me stop because I was ruining her normal sleep pattern. Empty threats," he said with a sad smile.

Sam looked at him a while longer then settled herself back against the arm of her couch, her eyes trained on his hands as they smoothed up and down the arches of her feet. She wiggled her toes in appreciation.

"Maybe you should give up the day job, sir. Retire and become a masseur for the famous," she grinned at the image of the Colonel giving someone like Bruce Willis a massage, who unknowingly often acted out what Jack did for a living; fighting the bad guys and all the rest of the world.

"Maybe I should."

Sam was brought back to the present at the sound of Jack's voice. She glanced up and found his intent stare now fixed on her, and she blushed as she realized the subtext of what he was saying.

She quickly looked away.

"How about I get you another…" she trailed off as she spotted his full beer bottle. Damn.

Jack smiled knowingly and tugged her feet across his lap, this time moving his hands up to massage the base of her calves.

This was dangerous territory, Sam knew that. So why wasn't she doing anything? At the moment it felt like someone had taken out her brain and was drumming her heart into her chest.

His hands moved a little bit further up her calf, gently pushing her sweats up to her knees.

Oh, boy. This was _very_ dangerous territory. Replicator homeworld territory. And she didn't have any weapons on her.

She raised her wide eyes from his hands – how come she'd never noticed just how _big_ they were before? – and they snagged on her CO's darkening eyes.

_Her CO's._

_Commanding Officer_.

Why was that not sinking in? Probably because she was too busy being hypnotized by his deep, dark, soulful eyes…

One of which suddenly winked at her. "Told you I was good," he crooned.

_Hooh boy. _He could say that again. Sam felt a very hot flush roar through her body. "Sir, maybe we should –"

Jack's grip momentarily tightened on her calf. "Jack. No 'sir', just Jack."

"_Sir…_"

Jack's hands slid up her leg higher and her sweats' legs bunched tightly too high up her thighs. "Jack, Sam; call me Jack. Please."

Sam would throw ice down her top if he'd just keep doing what his hands were suddenly doing just above her knees.

"Jack," she breathed out on a sigh.

And that was it. That was the trigger. The one tiny thing that set Jack over the edge he could feel himself leaning precariously over.

But hearing his name coming from that mouth, in that voice, and seeing that flash in her eyes, and he knew he was a goner.

Sam actually didn't know what hit her. But it was big and hard and fast and oh-so deliciously masculine as it managed to climb her body in a matter of seconds.

Days later and she'd be walking down the corridors of the SGC when the memory of this moment would hit, and then she'd abruptly stop in her tracks and fan herself in a good-old Scarlett O'Hara fashion.

But for now, she was happy to just lose herself in the moment.

Jack's hands, made deft from years of weapon handling, button pushing (physical _and_ figurative) and fiddling, were pouncing from spot to spot across Sam's body, pausing long enough to skim the contours of her face, then skipping to her throat where they slid the length of the pale column, trailing paths of white lightning down her skin.

His lips, meanwhile, were doing devastating things to hers, which was doing devastating things to the rest of her body.

It wasn't until his hands were cradling her head as she arched her neck to allow his mouth access, and her hands were racing across his chest (his shirt discarded somewhere on the floor), and his lips were gliding down, _down_ to the neckline of her top, that the sudden awareness of the situation they were in smashed into Sam like a wet fish slapping into her face.

The shock froze her mind and she went very, very still.

It took Jack a while to realize that Sam's nails were no longer raking spine-tingling patterns on skin, and the little mews of yearning were no longer purling from her throat. However, when he did notice Sam's compliant state beneath him he, too, froze.

Blinking the haze of passion that clouded his eyes, it took him a while to register Sam's horrified expression.

"What?" he croaked. He cleared his throat. "Sam?"

"Get off," she whispered.

"What?"

"Off! Get _off_ me!"

It was rare for anyone to have witnessed Major Samantha Carter in a less-than-composed condition. But Jack didn't have to be hit upside the head to hear the traces of hysteria leaking into Sam's voice.

However, he refused to move. Not only was he very comfortable, but he felt as though if he retreated now, there'd be no fixing this. He'd have gone too far to ever come here again.

"Sam –"

She began to struggle. Never had a struggling Sam been good. She didn't flail about like a panicked woman; she cut about precisely and methodically. Like now. When her wrists had been captured by his hands, effectively immobilizing her arms, and her upper body had been squashed between his and the couch, she brought out the big gun.

His lean body stretched out on top of hers, he was left supporting himself on his knees. With one of Sam's legs between.

Simply put: he was in a prone position. And Sam was a trained and efficient fighter. She knew what to do.

Jack sucked in a sharp breath when he felt her knee press itself into his crotch. The warning bells rang loud and clear.

"Sam…"

"Get off me, sir."

His eyes were level and locked with hers. The azure blue of her irises, usually bright and inviting, was cold and defiant. But they weren't dead. At that moment he could see the emotions flickering through them, alive and echoing through to his pounding heart. Betrayal, hurt, fear, worry and the remnants of fiery passion.

All those emotions, and he knew she wasn't going to do it. Knee him in the balls, he meant.

"Don't do this, Sam."

"Sir, with all due respect, get the hell off of me before I commit assault on a superior officer. Willingly."

"What, you think I'm going to court martial you for that after what we've just done?"

She flinched as though he'd hit her. "Please get off me," she whispered.

Jack slowly let go of one of her wrists and brought his hand to gently touch her cheek. "Don't push me away, Samantha. You're supposed to be the one who likes solving problems, you should be jumping to work through this one," he smiled hopefully.

"Forgive me if I don't seem too enthusiastic to analyze my way through layers of self-humiliation," she said sarcastically.

Jack's hope blossomed. Sarcasm was good! He could deal with that. What he couldn't deal with was Sam acting like a stranger.

"Humiliation?" He let go of her other wrist and tucked in his elbows so he was leaning his forearms on the armrest of the couch, eyes still snagged on hers.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, desperately trying to ignore the fact that she was blushing six shades of red. "I did just sexually assault my commanding officer." And admitting it didn't make it any less mortifying.

Jack's eyebrow rose to mirror hers. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I was pretty sure I had a part to play in what went on."

She blushed even more. Boy did she remember. But that wasn't the point. "Still. I shouldn't have…"

"What? What was it you shouldn't have done? Let me sit next to you? Given me a beer? Let me in the _house_? Because that's the only way you could have stopped this. Or at least delayed this. Because it was gonna happen, eventually."

Sam squirmed uncomfortably. For once in his life, Jack was right. "That doesn't make this right, sir. Or for that matter: legal."

Jack groaned and thunked his forehead down against the arm next to her head. "Who _cares_ if it was right? When I have ever done something right for the sake of doing something right?"

Sam squirmed again, and this time not because of what he had just said. Although that was partly the reason. The bulk of it was that Jack was still lying on top of her, his body relaxed and weight pressing into her. And it felt right. Which was exactly what she didn't want…

Right?

Damned if she knew, and suddenly…she didn't care. Because as she looked up into those warm, caring, soulful cocoa eyes of his, she was struck with a sudden clarity that focused solely on Jack.

And she knew that, although it had been drilled into her so many times – most of the time by herself – that this was wrong, she knew _that_ was wrong.

Because how could loving someone and being loved ever be wrong? And who even cared about whether or not it was legal?

She'd seen people be wronged by those who created the laws, surely she deserved a break?

Hell yeah, she did.

Jack saw the exact moment when Sam's outlook changed. Saw her mental gears shift then lock. Saw her eyes sharpen and brighten, lasering in on him.

"This doesn't change the fact that this is still illegal, though."

"True. But I know George already thinks there's something going on between us, and so far he's just sat by and done nothing. Heck, he's even defended us whenever someone's made an accusation."

Sam's eyes leapt wide open. "General Hammond thinks we've been in a _relationship_?"

"Yeah. Apparently for quite some time. Five years, to be exact." Jack shrugged as if this didn't really concern him. Which was true. As long as Sam's career was still safe, then old George could presume what he wanted.

"_What?"_

"To be honest, I think it was your dad who tipped him off. About our being in love with each other, I mean."

"_What?_ My _dad_? _Love? What?"_

Jack grinned and tapped a finger on the end of her nose. "You're cute when you're all confused."

"How would my dad know anything about us?"

"I don't know. Maybe because I call him 'dad'? All I _do_ know is that he came up to me some years back and outright asked me if I was fraternizing with his daughter and my 2IC."

"_What!"_ This time Sam screamed the word.

"Obviously I told him that yes, I was and had been for some time and that, in fact, we'd already had 3 children, all named Moe."

With an emphatic groan, Sam dropped her head back against the arm of the sofa.

Jack's grin widened and he dropped a sweet kiss on her lips. "I told him the truth, and he accepted it."

Sam peeped out of one eye warily. "And what exactly is the truth?"

"That I love you and have loved you for some time – probably about the time you wanted to arm wrestle me – remember that? – but that I would never, under any circumstances, risk your career."

The deep setting of his voice and seriousness of his eyes made it feel as though someone had just shoved a baseball down Sam's throat, and she had to blink away tears. "You love me?" she whispered.

He rolled his eyes. "Duh."

Raising her lips to his, which he eagerly met, she whispered back, "Then I guess I love you too."

This time they were both grinning as they kissed.

"So we're okay now?" Jack asked after a while.

"We're okay."

"Good. Because it's not like we'll have to keep this a secret for long. My knee will blow for the last time sometime, and earth will be safe from all aliens out there – not necessarily in that order – and then we'll be able to get married and have those 3 kids all called Moe."

"Or I could just retire and become a civilian scientist for the SGC."

"Ditto for me."

"Somehow I can't see you as a scientist for the SGC, Jack."

"Shut up and kiss me, smartass."

She tiptoed her fingers up his chest. "Just one question, sir."

Jack winced. "Maybe you should lose the 'sir'."

Sam smiled. "How do you like your eggs in the morning?"

Jack's grin was instantaneous and he leant down to kiss her, hard and long and soulful. "If you're doing them?" he mumbled into her lips.

She nodded.

"I'll stick with cereal."


End file.
